Quarter Life
by Spinechicken
Summary: Yet another HalfLife story. This will be an ongoing series of actionoriented short stories. ALL NEW STORY UPLOADED! MARCH '04
1. Mesa Falcon

Quarter Life  
Several short stories based on Sierra's hit game  
  
Story One: Mesa Falcon  
  
LOCATION: New Mexico Desert, Approx. 2000 km away from the Black Mesa Research Facility  
  
TIMESCALE: December 3rd 1998, 0920 hours EVENT TIME PLUS ONE DAY  
  
Captain Jason "Lynx" Stevens sat back in his flight seat and wiped the sweat from his brow. It was hot out in the desert, and even hotter in the heat-retaining cockpit of his F-16 Fighting Falcon. He switched off the autopilot and swung the fighter in accordance with the rest of his Flight Group. The radio's crackled to life, the muffled voice of Major David Stern commanding his pilots.  
  
"Okay men, stand by to drop to 800 feet, nearing objective"  
  
Stevens put his mask up to his face and spoke  
  
"Sir, what are we doing here?"  
  
"We're to provide close air support and air superiority, once we reach Black Mesa you'll all be receiving orders from soldiers on the ground. Should you be attacked, engage all fighters"  
  
The response was typically vague of the Vietnam veteran flight leader. Stevens didn't like it, but in typical military style accepted his orders. He lowered the plane, the ground below becoming clear, individual details becoming more recognisable. There were the large Mesa mountains that dominated the area, the blue winding snake-like river. Then the research facility passed beneath the squadron. Stevens was shocked to see explosions and broken outlines of buildings. Then, all of sudden, the fighter to his left exploded in a bright red flame, the wreckage screaming over Stevens' cockpit.  
  
"Holy shit what the hell."  
  
Strange, unrecognisable craft blasted overhead the squadron, weaning off the sides and re-engaging.  
  
"This is it, all fighters engage, you now operate as separate units, and may God be with us all," panted Major Stern.  
  
Each of the fighters broke off to engage the alien craft. Stevens focussed his attention on the craft that had knocked his wingman out of the sky. It zipped and screamed low over the facility, Stevens concentrating hard to avoid slamming into the ruined buildings below. He struggled to get a missile lock, the consistent bleep of the targeting system serving only to irritate him.  
  
"Come here you little son-of-a-bitch" he swore. The craft then pulled up for just a split second, long enough for the missile to get a lock. Stevens pulled hard on the trigger, an AIM-9 sidewinder missile streaking from under his plane's wing and slamming into the alien craft, which spun end over end before smashing into a group of parked Jeeps below. Stevens punched the air with joy, and turned the jet back to the squadron. Any feelings of success he might of felt faded as he glimpsed the horrors ahead of him. The alien fighters had almost decimated his squadron, most of whom were turning back. Stevens turned his radio on, the full horror of what was occurring ahead of him slowly coming across.  
  
"This is five, I can't shake this guy, he's got a lock on me, I can't.argh!!!!"  
  
"Five I've got him, hang in there buddy"  
  
"Five's down, I repeat he is down, I didn't see him bail out"  
  
"Goddamnit what are these things!"  
  
Then another signal flashed over Stevens's radio  
  
"Hey you up there, the lucky bastard who took out that fighter, we got a group of troublesome guards entrenched in a building, and there are aliens attacking the late flank. Drop 'em a present at coordinates four-five-seven- six, out"  
  
Stevens pulled away from the fight; he'd deal with the aliens later. He flipped on the tracking system, which was receiving the coordinates from the marines down below. He lined the fighter up to the target, which seemed to be a large building at the end of a long highway-like road. Flying as low as he possibly could, Stevens gazed ahead, the bright flashes of gunfire and the burning wreckages of military vehicles becoming ever clearer. With fifty meters to go, he armed the heavy AIM-20 missile and fired, pulling up. The missile smashed into the building, blowing it high into the sky. Several guards ran out, they were on fire. The marines dropped them in a show of mercy.  
  
"Thanks for that fighter man, we owe you one"  
  
"Anytime boys, good luck down there"  
  
Stevens now returned his attention the aerial dogfights occurring above him. By this time the 10-plane squadron had been reduced to two, Major Stern and a rookie pilot. Stevens cried  
  
"I'm back, providing support"  
  
He switched to guns and veered after the fighter on the rookie pilots' tail. It was too late for the poor kid, as the alien fighter unleashed a barrage of laser fire, which struck the cockpit of the F-16, sending it screaming down to the desert floor. Stevens swore and then clicked the fire trigger  
  
"Take this!"  
  
The cannon bullets smashed into the alien fighter, ripping it apart and sending it to its doom. Stevens pulled up and onto the tail of the alien fighter pursuing the Major's jet. Stevens locked on again with the cannons and unleashed a hail of fire. The bullets struck the alien fighter in the tail, causing it to violently explode.  
  
"Thanks kid" responded a relieved Major Stevens "There's a refuelling jet a coupla miles ahead, wanna go get some fuel?"  
  
"Yes sir"  
  
The two jets streaked off towards the bulky C-3 refuelling plane.  
  
"You first Stevens" said Stern  
  
Stevens lined his fighter up to connect with the fuel nozzle. The two planes interlocked and the C-3 began to feed life-giving fuel into the F- 16. But just at that moment, another group of alien fighters screamed from below. One of them fired a huge laser blast at Stern's plane, and it was ripped in half. The Major tried desperately to bail out, but the flames consumed him. Another alien fighter fired several laser rounds at the C-3, which blew up in front of Stevens. The refuelling arm was ripped from the front of Stevens' F-16. This caused fuel to spatter over his cockpit. Stevens pulled the jet away, but his cockpit was filled with red warning lights.  
  
"Warning, fuel tanks empty" Stevens heard the chilling sound of the engine cut out. He fought with the violently bucking plane in an effort to keep it straight. He reached for the ejector lever and pulled it up. Nothing happened.  
  
"Shit, the explosion must have knocked the circuitry out"  
  
Stevens held the plane level, trying to see through the fuel stained cockpit. Below he could make out the sandy desert floor below.  
  
"This is Lynx, I'm going down, and I say again I'm going down, coordinates unknown, get an SAR team out ASAP"  
  
He marvelled for an extra half a second before impact that he'd managed to keep the plane level. With that, the F16 slammed into the ground. A shower of sand was thrown over the cockpit and Stevens was thrust forward, narrowly stopping himself from bashing into the control set. The plane screeched across the desert floor, it's wings ripping off. The plane's momentum was gradually slowed by the sand and it finally came to halt just inches from a rock face. Stevens was pulled back into his seat, and lay there. Smoke rose up from the broken consoles, and sunlight shone through the huge cracks in the broken viewport, the rest of which was covered by a mixture of fuel and sand.  
  
Stevens unhooked himself, and reached for the M4 rifle stowed underneath the control console. Using it to smash through the plexiglass, he hauled himself out of the plane, surprised at how weak his legs felt. He landed with a thud on the sandy floor, then picked himself up and ran away from the plane. Shortly after he had got out, the ejector seat blasted out of the cockpit, smashing into a rock formation above. Stevens breathed a sigh of relief that he had got out in time. But he was greeted by another grim fate. He had crashed miles away from the facility, and the desert sun was at its peak. He had no water, and no compass. He was stuck. Dropping to his knees he held his head in his hands and cried deeply for his lost comrades. Just then however, he heard a deep, thudding sound. Looking up to the heavens he saw several large black helicopters flying overhead. He began to wave at them like a madman, trying to signal them to land. The next second he found himself lying on the floor. He had heard a loud crack, and touched his neck to find he was bleeding. He lay there, choking on his own blood, desperately trying to signal the helicopters. As the final helicopter passed overhead, he blacked out permanently.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------ On board one of the black helicopters, a sinister looking Black Operations soldier leaned back into his seat, and blew away the gunsmoke from his sniper rifle. His fellow soldiers laughed menacingly. The sniper notched up the kill on his well-scored barrel and then set himself back into the seat. The helicopters proceeded towards the burning Black Mesa Research Facility  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------- The following is the causality list from "Black Bat" Squadron, 190th Air Support Unit, one of four such units involved in the Black Mesa Incident  
  
Major D. Stern (CMOH Winner, 1974), Confirmed Killed In Action, 3/12/98  
  
Captain J. Stevens (MSM Winner, 1991), Missing In Action, Presumed Dead, 3/12/98  
  
Lieutenant G. Newell, Confirmed Killed In Action, 3/12/98  
  
Lieutenant K. Barrett, Confirmed Killed In Action, 3/12/98  
  
P/O U. Itonix, Missing In Action, 3/12/98  
  
P/O D. Washington, Confirmed Killed In Action, 3/12/98  
  
P/O J. Nicholls, Confirmed Killed In Action, 3/12/98  
  
P/O S. Forelli, Wounded In Action 3/12/98, Later Died In Roswell State Hospital, 25/12/98  
  
P/O J. Horton, Confirmed Killed In Action, 3/12/98  
  
P/O D. Holland, Missing In Action, Presumed Dead, 3/12/98  
  
The details of the men's deaths were kept and still remain secret. The heroism of the fighter pilots ensured that the marines on the ground were able to pull out safely later on during that fateful day of December 3rd 1998. All but one of the 10 F-16s were lost. The one that was discovered was found in 2002 by a tourist group, half buried under the Black Mesan sands. A body was discovered near the crash site, but it was too badly decomposed for positive identification. 


	2. Tank Rush

STORY TWO: Tank Rush  
  
LOCATION: Surface Exit Tunnel Two B, Black Mesa Research Facility  
  
TIMESCALE: December 3rd, 1230 hours EVENT TIME PLUS ONE DAY 3 HOURS  
  
"WARNING, ENGINE OVERHEATING"  
  
Tank Driver Tom Peters ignored the flashing lights in his cramped compartment and floored the accelerator. The battered V12 engine grumbled angrily, lurching the heavy vehicle forward. The accelerator showed it was only going at a mere 45mph.  
  
"LEFT!"  
  
Tom threw the tank to the left, scraping it against the hard tunnel wall. He couldn't see, crouched as he was in the compartment. The turret had swivelled backwards so he was unable to get out. At that moment it blasted out a heavy round, giving the tank a short burst of speed. The voice was that of the commander, Major Dwyers, sat on the tank roof. The men of this tank were escaping both the Black Mesa Facility.and the huge, terrifying Garg beast that was thundering after them, ripping out concrete from the roof and ignoring the tank's gun blasts as if they were merely peas.  
  
"RIGHT!" shouted Dwyers. At the same time as Peters reached for the right track control, another blast from the main gun propelled the tank forward, causing him to smack into the bulkhead of the tank.  
  
"RIGH..." screamed Dwyers, but it was too late. The tank ploughed into the concrete wall, throwing a screaming Dwyers straight into it, breaking every bone in his body. He slumped onto the wrecked tank. Peters suddenly awoke, his head seething with pain. Smoke filled the compartment, but he still couldn't get out. Then he realised. Tank. Stopped. Big Garg.  
  
At the same time as this realisation hit him so did the Garg creature, lifting the tank form the rear with one arm, and pulling off the turret with the other. Peters fumbled hurridly for his MP5, before leaping out of the compartment, just as the Garg stuck its arm into the tank and fired a blast of fire into the wreckage. The tank exploded in its hand, bright red pieces sticking into the creature, which screamed in agony.  
  
Peters sighted his MP5 at the creature and let off a volley of rounds, to no effect. At the same time, Dwyers regained conciousness. He felt in so much pain as to not be able to speak or move. He let out a dull moan, just as Peters ran over. Grabbing the badly injured commander by the shirt, Peters began dragging him towards the tunnel exit, as the Garg fought to pull out the embedded pieces of tank shrapnel.  
  
"NORTH WEST EXIT-400 METERS" Read a sign that caught Peters eye. Sunlight was already filling the tunnel, its heat both reasurring and soothing.  
  
"Hang on sir, nearly there!" said Peters. But, as he did, the Garg ripped the last piece of Tank from its flesh, and focussed it's attention on Peters. With one huge swipe, it caught Peters in the back, smacking him against the wall and knocking him out. Dwyers remained on the ground, regaining enough strength to push himself over on his shattered arms. The Garg was staring at him hungrily. Dwyers pulled out his Desert Eagle sidearm and started firing at the creature, which reached down and picked him up. The Desert eagle ran dry, though Dwyers kept pressing the trigger. He knew he was going to die. The Garg ripped off his legs with the other arm and threw them in its mouth, almost like a piece of chicken. Dwyers screamed in pain. The creature crushed his chest, then bit his head off, before throwing the rest of the shattered soldiers' body into its throat. It swallowed, and then almost purred with satisfaction.  
  
Peters again regained conciousness, rubbing his sore head. His left leg was broken, and his back ached. But this was not his main worry, the Garg was eyeing him up. It reached down, picking him up. But Peters had a little surprise for the creature. He quickly grabbed the grenade from his leg pouch before the creature grabbed him, and as it lifted him high above its gaping mouth, he flung the grenade into the creature. It exploded, and the Garg screamed, dropping Peters and clutching at its throat.  
  
"Too hot for you, huh?" joked Peters. The garg let out one guttural scream, before it's stomach area exploded, showering Peters in green-orange blood. The huge corpse slammed onto the concrete road.  
  
Peters shook his head, then reached for his MP5. Lifting himself up and suppressing the pain of his broken leg as best he could, he limped toward the sunlight.  
  
At the end of the tunnel, a group of scientists were beginning to leave, having just escaped via the old teleportation labs. One jeep, with Dr Earl Rosenberg and a security guard pulled away onto the desert road. Another group was lifting the badly injured Dr Yuri Kavalov into a second jeep, he had been badly wounded by fire from a marine. At this exact time, Peters stumbled out of the tunnel. He gestured to the scientists.  
  
"Help me!"  
  
The scientists stopped, looking at each other and speaking quietly. Then one slammed the Jeep door shut, the rest climbing into the jeep. He sauntered over to where Peters was lying.  
  
"You want us to help you?"  
  
"P..please." mumbled Peters, who was already falling unconscious from the pain. "I'm in a lot of pain."  
  
"YOU'RE IN A LOT OF PAIN??!" shouted the increasingly angry scientist. "You marines kill and injure innocents and you're in a lot of pain!" With that, the scientist revealed what he was hiding behind his back, a mean looking pipe wrench. Before Peters could do anything, the scientist lifted it high above his head and was about to plunge it into Peters skull when gunshots resounded. Two bullets smacked into the scientist's chest, and he fell to the ground, mouth wide open. Peters didn't look to see who had fired the shots, but reached for his MP5, summoned enough strength to lift himself up and sprayed the compartment of the jeep with gunfire. The three scientists inside slumped dead, blood spattering all over the broken windows. Peters spun round to see his guardian angel, but there was no-one there. Only a smoking M16 lay on the ground. Peters shook off any feelings of concern and limped over to the jeep, pulling the corpse of the driver out onto the hot desert road, he hopped in and pulled away from the scene.  
  
Tom Peters drove 200 miles to Roswell, New Mexico in the shattered Jeep, admitting himself to the local hospital. He supposedly died of his wounds two days later, no-one noticing the suit clad man who left Peters room just before his life support machine sounded. 


	3. Hostile Intentions

Story Three: Hostile Intentions  
  
LOCATION: Car Park D-12, Black Mesa Research Facility, New Mexico  
  
TIMESCALE: December 3rd 1998, 16:20 hours (EVENT TIME PLUS ONE DAY SEVEN HOURS)  
  
The afternoon sun was beginning to cast its dying shadows over the hot concrete of Car Park D-12. Cicadas chirruped their desert tune and somewhere in the distance a coyote let off a howl. These sounds of nature intermingled with the distant and violent cacophony of gunfire, explosions and the thwocking of helicopter blades. This scene was anything but peaceful. High above the urbanesque landscape, a petite AH-6 attack helicopter swooped down from the clouds.  
  
Marine Master Sergeant Dwight Barnes clutched his M16 assault rifle tightly, his eyes squinting through the plastic eye protectors that covered the upper half of his face from the dust blasting past his exposed seat. His team of six marines were strapped to what were little more than planks of wood attached to the flimsy helicopter. Barnes didn't like it. He liked being ensconced in the comfort of a heavy APC, not flying through the air like a heavily armed pigeon. Swallowing his nerves, Barnes furrowed his brow and listened to the radio chatter crossing his headset.  
  
"Team Alpha Two, this is command, come in" Barnes's ears pricked up  
  
"This is Alpha Two" he responded in his heavily nicotine tinged voice  
  
"Alpha Two, you are approaching your L.Z., prepare to engage as soon as you hit the deck"  
  
"Roger that command, I'm ready" said Barnes, flicking off the plastic safety catch of his weapon. The marines sitting on the helicopter rapidly followed suit.  
  
"Once you are on the ground, form a field of covering fire around the crash site, help the survivors onto the bird, then get the hell out of there" continued the disembodied voice of HQ.  
  
Barnes just grimaced. Below him he could see the deep scar in the black concrete, a trail leading up to the shattered frame of a V-22 Osprey. Next to the broken cockpit lay three Marines, one of whom was waving madly at the helicopter. The AH-6 rapidly decelerated, causing Barnes to feel a bit nauseous, yet at the same time elated. The combat-hardened marine had not seen any real fighting since the Gulf, and he couldn't wait to pop some heads.  
  
The little bird slammed onto the concrete of the car park with a loud screeching noise. Barnes flew off the plank and ran towards the group of marines clustered around the V-22 wreckage. The marine who had waved at Barnes as he was in flight walked forward and extended a bloodstained hand to the sergeant.  
  
"Thank God you got here sir, we thought we were toast"  
  
"Never gonna happen Marine" said Barnes, shouting to be heard over the whipping blast of the AH-6's rotors.  
  
"You boys load up on the AH-6, we'll cover"  
  
The marine nodded and went over to help the injured man lying up against the broken wing of the V-22. Barnes turned and signalled to his men to take up positions at four points around the crash site. He crawled over to a group of barrels that had been flipped over by the crash and gazed down the road that led towards Black Mesa's ordnance warehouses. Radio chatter picked up considerably, alerting Barnes that a squad of Marines was fighting their way out of the area. The odd flash rose up from behind the buildings in the distance. Barnes tightened his finger on the trigger.  
  
The survivors of the Osprey crash clambered onto the benches and rear seats of the AH-6. They had filled it, leaving no room for Barnes's team. The injured man from the crash could not fit into the rear seat of the AH-6, so he had been dragged back to where he had been resting. The pilot reached for his radio.  
  
"Sergeant Barnes, we're all outta space here, can you hold you position while I take these boys back?"  
  
Barnes frowned and turned to face the pilot, ensconced in his cool plastic cockpit. He nodded and returned to the sight of his weapon, swearing under his breath. The AH-6 gently lifted up into the air and flew off back in the direction of Marine headquarters. Everything suddenly became a lot quieter. Barnes became aware of his own heart pounding nervously in his chest. The sound of explosions from the warehouses was starting to grow louder, and the original dominant chatter of M16's had been replaced by the low wheezing of laser fire.  
  
The injured man started to groan. Barnes looked to his left and gazed at him. He was wearing a sandy-coloured flight suit that was covered in blood, and bandages covered his chest and legs. The marine who he had spoken to, evidently a medic, reached into his backpack and gave the pilot a shot of morphine. The pilot's eyes fluttered closed and he passed out.  
  
"What happened to that guy?" said Barnes, indicating to the pilot  
  
"He was thrown from the cockpit when we crashed, he's got significant internal injuries" said the medic  
  
"What's his name?" asked Barnes, his voice now more sympathetic  
  
"Thomas" said the Medic "and I'm Rand"  
  
"Okay Rand, you keep that pilot alive, he or you ain't allowed to die on my watch," responded Barnes, returning to look down his sights. Rand smiled and continued to tend to Thomas's wounds.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------  
  
It was about an hour later when Barnes started to get worried. The AH-6 had not returned, nor had any other airborne vehicle. The sound of fighting had died down and the radio chatter had decreased considerably. Struggling to his feet, Barnes switched his radio to the HQ channel.  
  
"Command, this is Alpha Two, my team is still here at D-12 and we've got a severely injured pilot, what's the status on our pickup?"  
  
There was no response. Barnes tried again, but to no avail. He swore loudly.  
  
"Okay guys, listen up, looks like Command has got the shits, so we'll have to carry..."  
  
As he spoke the broken cockpit of the V-22 exploded violently. Barnes threw himself to the floor as laser fire shot overhead. The three other marines of his team had set up around the pilot and were firing wildly towards the warehouses. Barnes got slowly to his feet, his eyes widening with horror at what met them. A huge group of aliens were lumbering nonchalantly towards the marines, firing their lasers and brushing off the bullets like they weren't even there.  
  
Barnes raised his M16 sight to his eye and loosed off a few rounds.  
  
"Pour it on 'em men, hold those son's of bitches back"  
  
Barnes fired off an entire clip in a few seconds, wiping out the first line of approaching aliens. He lowered the rifle and turned to face Rand.  
  
"There's a working jeep over there, get Thomas inside it and get your ass out of here" he ordered  
  
"But sarge..."  
  
"No freakin' buts Medic" yelled Barnes, inserting a fresh clip into the hungry rifle and returning fire at the aliens  
  
Rand ran towards the Jeep and pulled open the door. Laser fire whipped off the metallic frame, charring it black. Rand reached for the key and turned it, the engine responding with a wild, throaty roar. Racing back to Thomas, Rand dragged him towards the jeep and placed him in the passenger seat.  
  
Barnes was running low on ammo. He inserted his final clip of M16 ammunition and fired it off. The enemy was still coming at them, like a great seething mass of rage that would not stop. The M16 ran dry as one alien bolted forward and hopped over the barrel that Barnes had been using for cover. It was running towards Thomas, its green jaws drooling hungrily. Barnes wasn't going to let it go however, and as it leapt over the barrel he clipped its legs with the butt of his M16, causing the ugly beast to land face first onto the concrete. Barnes walked over to the alien as it struggled to get up, and beat it repeatedly with the rifle, screaming and swearing as he got covered in green blood, not stopping until he had reduced the alien's head to a mass of green goo. Barnes dropped the rifle to the ground and looked up at Rand.  
  
"Get out of here Medic"  
  
Rand smiled and nodded before gunning the engine and turning out of the car park. Barnes watched the vehicle leave then turned his attention back to the alien hoard. It was getting very close to his men, one of whom was now slumped dead on the ground, a thin line of steam rising from where his head had once been.  
  
Barnes smirked at the black comedy of it all. He reached for his Colt .45 and cocked it, gazing up into the multitudinous eyes of the enemy.  
  
"Bring it on, assholes" 


End file.
